


Sticky Fingers

by psychotriton



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempt at Humor, M/M, Pickpockets, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychotriton/pseuds/psychotriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>''Well. I met my soulmate.'' There's a gasp, then a delighted scream. ''That's wonderful! How did-'' Law cuts her off. "He pick-pocketed me' The line goes silent. Then Lamie laughs, like he just told the biggest joke of the year, if not the decade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> AU where the first touch from your soulmate leaves a mark on you where you've been touched

It's around noon when Law walks home from a long shift at the hospital. The air is humid, hot, still. He feels a headache upcoming to him, it tells about an approaching storm. His body never fails to warn him about the sudden changes in weather. The meteorological forecast app on his smart phone doesn't, either.

He isn't having one of his best days. He had two rather difficult surgeries, and couple of stupid people to deal with. He's in the dire need of a vacation too - one can only deal with so much stress for so long. The monotony of the clinic is driving him insane.

Sure, operations are never exactly alike. But you still do the same all the time. Cut people open, mess with their organs, fix this, fix that. Then sew it back together and watch over them for a while. Which is not as easy as he makes it sound like, but even someone as passionate as him has enough after some time.

He's got to admit that a break would do wonders to him. It might even take off the edge of his sarcasm. Who knows?

Someone bumps into him. He's already beyond irritated, but it multiplies. There's an urge to yell at whoever it is, lecture them about looking where they go. Make them regret even coming to the streets.

He stills. For a moment, it's as if something is moving in his pocket. Like something tears. A feeling akin to skin against skin. He looks down, but can't see anything. There's also the weight of his keyring present in his pocket. Maybe it's just the paranoia. It wouldn't be surprising after hearing so many stories about being pick pocketed.

''Sorry'' a young voice next to him mumbles, before the owner speeds past him. His face is hidden under a straw hat with a red ribbon tied around it. The boy is short and lean, body clad in a red tank top and jean shorts.

There's nothing unusual to him. Still, his gray eyes follow the boy's movements. He watches him until he disappears at one corner for whatever reason. He doesn't know why. He just does.

 

* * *

 

He arrives to his apartment, and notices that, well, his pockets are leaky. He comes to this conclusion as he climbs the stairs and feels his keys sliding down on his leg.

That's when he remembers why he relegated this pair of jeans to the bottom of his wardrobe. Needless to say that the realization comes with profanities falling from his lips. Had his mother heard either of them, she would have washed his mouth with soap. He doesn't doubt that.

''Finally'' he mutters as he slides the key into the keyhole at last. There's another word before that; its initial is F too. It isn't a pretty word though.

 

* * *

 

So he was pick pocketed, Law notes. His mood goes sour within moments after the discovery. Just after it has somewhat improved. (Courtesy of the leftover Chinese takeout he'd found in the refrigerator. A surprise to him from himself, he guesses.)

 

* * *

 

He's in the shower when he notices that there's a bigger problem than that. A problem that has his eyes glued on his leg.

He stares.

And stares.

Stares until a trail of shampoo gets into his eye.

He turns away from the marks only after that.

The marks on his left thighs. The four thick stripes that show a scary resemblance to fingers. Marks that looks like exactly imprint marks.

He has a feeling what's going on. Hell, he knows for damn sure what happened. He met his soulmate. And his soulmate pick pocketed him.

An image of a certain straw hat wearing boy pops up in his mind and he curses it with all he's worth.

 

* * *

 

Lamie calls him later that day. Of course, she notices his worse than bad mood after few minutes into conversation. Granted, it's not that hard thing to do, not with all the cynicism Law produces. He's impressing even himself there.

''Law? What's wrong?'' she asks, voice concerned. This brings a bitter smile to Law's lips. And meanwhile that mean little voice in his head goes overboard.

Oh nothing, everything's  _peachy_  there. just great. Fantastic. Perfect. Who wouldn't want to have a pickpocket for a soulmate? Even better, who wouldn't want to be  _pickpocketed_  by his chosen one? Modern love story, urban setting, new theme for a Disney movie. My soulmate is putting Cinderella's romantic story to shame, he's so  _romantic_.

He pulls the zipper on his mouth tight though. Reminds himself not to be jerk to people who just mean well. And Lamie just worries. He should be glad she cares.

''Well. I met my soulmate.''

There's a gasp, then a delighted scream. ''That's wonderful! How did-'

Law cuts her off. "He pick-pocketed me''

The line goes silent. Then Lamie laughs, like he just told the biggest joke of the year, if not the decade. Long and loud guffawing, directed at him. This is what Hell must look like. And Law just sits, feeling more awkward than ever.

''Oh my god that sucks. Sucks a lot!'' she says, out of breath. Well at least someone's happy there. He's a naive fool for believing to find solace in his sister.

''What happened after that?'' she asks, and Law can imagine her leaning forward. Hungry for gossip. He groans. Asking her to keep it a secret would be futile.

''Nothing. I only noticed it after I got home.''

''That's no fun.'' she says, pout almost audible.

"It was about damn time you realize it" Law mutters.

''Don't be such a sourpuss. It'll be a good story to tell!''

For you maybe, Law thinks but keeps it to himself. He isn't willing to say anything else on this matter. Steers the conversation to different topics much to Lamie's dismay.

 

* * *

 

There was a big cloudburst at night. Hail with ice the size of nut. He's insomniac. He's got trouble with sleeping in complete silence. And he can't sleep with hail slamming against the window.

So by half past ten he's already sipping his third coffee. Black and hot. He walks to the park. Figures why not. It's definitely not because he hopes to meet a certain pickpocket.

He chooses a nice bench to sit on. It's just a coincidence that it's near to the place where he was stripped of his wallet. Even if the bread in the storefront of the nearby bakery annoys him.

He wipes the back of the bench with a tissue and sits there. It's easier than wiping the whole thing. Plus he gets to be like the cool kids in high school.

The temperature is hot. The day shines bright, makes Law want to crawl into his refrigerator. That it's muggy too doesn't help. It isn't one of his good days either.

Someone stands in front of him. Block his view of the bakery on the other side of the sidewalk. Now he only sees a blue tank top and black jeans in front of him. No pastry, no bread.

He looks up. Finds a cute, round-faced teenager looking at him. He seems apologetic and sheepish. There's a stitched scar under his left eye.

And he has a straw hat sitting on the top of his head.

''Why, hello'' Law says. Smirks. More unnerving than friendly.

''It's yours, isn't it?'' the boy asks, reaches out. Law's wallet rests in his hand.

''Where'd you find it?'' Law asks, pretends surprise as he takes it. '' Wasn't it, I don't know, in my pocket maybe?''

The boy grins too. ''Sorry. A drink for compensation? I pay.''

''With the money you stole from me?'' he inquires. His brows shoot up on his forehead.

The teen ignores him and reaches his palm out yet again. Law catches a sign of black marks on the back of his fingers. '' I'm Luffy. Monkey D. Luffy.''

The tattooed man takes it, expecting a handshake. "Trafalgar Law.''

He's a bit caught off guard as Luffy pulls him off of the bench. ''Nice to meet you, Torao.''

''Trafalgar.'' he corrects.

''Torao'' the teen insists.

The taller man sighs.

Somehow, they end up holding hands. Fingers laced together. Luffy's sticky, marked ones with Law's tattooed ones. And that one drink becomes four or five, he doesn't know.


End file.
